


world's finest dad(s)

by CapnWinghead



Category: DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Dad advice, First Crush, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Super Sons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnWinghead/pseuds/CapnWinghead
Summary: Jon and Damian seek advice from the World's Finest dads.Or how Bruce and Clark learned to deal with their sons' first crush.





	world's finest dad(s)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a prompt fill on [tumblr. ](http://capn-shellhead.tumblr.com/post/186200443304/could-you-write-number-61-with-damien-and-jon)
> 
> There's no kissing - not even any handholding. It's all puppy love.

“Where’s the best place to hide a dead body?”

Bruce paused in his typing for a second before he continued on with a dry, “Should I be worried, Kent?”

Jon slumped down along the top of the computer console, huffing out a breath that momentarily pushed his bangs away from his forehead. “No, I was just curious. Damian always talks about how smart you are, how you know a lot of stuff. Like, stuff I didn’t even know there was to know, you know?”

Bruce’s mouth twitched, “I know.” He cleared his throat, “He talks about me a lot?”

“Uh huh,” he pushed up quickly, “I mean, only sometimes.”

Bruce took pity on him, “I won’t tell him you told me that.”

“Good because he gets really weird about his family.” Jon sat up, cross legged and hovering over the computer console. Bruce wonders if it was simply a product of being a child because Clark had never done anything like that, even in their early years. “Even so, he talks about you guys more than he ever talks about himself. I ask him stuff, you know like what’s his favorite color and his favorite foods and what he does when he’s not punching people. He never says anything.”

He adopted a gruff voice, scowling as he recited, “’Shut up, Kent’, ‘pay attention’, ‘I’m training you here’. He never tells me anything.”

Bruce hummed, typing away. At Jon’s sad sigh, he glanced up. The blue eyes were studying him intently, his lip caught between his teeth. There it was – just as Bruce suspected: his children’s friends never hung out in the cave without a reason. “If you want me to tell you what Damian’s favorite color is—”

“No, no, no,” he insisted, dropping a few inches in the air. “I just want – can I,” he sighed, his hair flopping in his eyes as he lowered his head, his hands moving in a frustrated flurry. His eyes cut to Bruce’s, wide and curious. “Is there some secret to getting Damian to talk to you?”

Bruce hid a smile, “No, there really isn’t.” He leaned back in his chair, “My children – especially Damian… we do our best work staying in the shadows. For us, well, excluding Dick, there’s a benefit to hiding our secrets. Which means, while we do great work, it’s not easy to get to know us.”

“Except Dick,” Jon added and the corner of Bruce’s mouth curled up. “So, you’re saying I’ll never really know him?”

Bruce took in the clear disappointment in his tone, the softness to his face and marveled at what a wonder it must be to be young when the only things you worried about were dodging homework and a not so subtle crush on your best friend. Because Jon had clearly come down with a case of puppy love. Harmless as it was, it reminded him of earlier days watching Dick puff out of his chest whenever he ran into Barbara in the field. Chasing Kate through the park and nearly bowling her over when the cute teenager running the ice cream cart smiled at her. Times Bruce felt he’d always missed out on because his head had always been full of other things. In a lot of ways, he knew Clark was better suited for this conversation. At the same time, he didn’t think there was anyone better suited to give advice on dealing with a secretive bat.

Besides, Jon was harmless and Bruce was fairly certain he was only interested in getting to know more about Damian for the purposes of being a better friend to his son. There was no sinister motive here. Bruce was rather thankful for that.

“My son can be… difficult. But if you can manage to get past that, and put the work in, it’s worth it. I’ve never known anyone as loyal as he is to everyone he cares about.” He cleared his throat, returning to his computer. “You’ll find your answers in what he doesn’t say, rather than his responses. And his actions. You’ll have to ask the right questions.”

When he returned to the boy, he found Jon watching him ardently, a determined furrow in his brow. _So much like Clark_ , he mused. “We done here?” Bruce asked.

Jon nodded eagerly, landing on his feet and racing around the console. He gave Bruce a quick hug before he hurried up the stairs to the manor. “Thank you, Mr. Batman!”

Bruce bit down a laugh, returning to his files.

+

Several miles away, Clark Kent’s eyes shot open and he raced down the stairs to his kitchen.

He found a boy sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. The mug read “World’s Greatest Dad”. Smiling, Clark padded forward, arms crossed. “Breaking and entering is a crime, you know?”

“Then it’s a good thing your back door was unlocked,” Damian replied, sipping coffee rather unconcerned.

Clark hummed, moving over to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup. It was still steaming hot – clearly Damian hadn’t been here long. He sat down across from the young man, taking in his maskless face. He was still wearing his cape and uniform, the bright yellow “R” easily visible. Clark often wondered what the symbol meant to Damian. For Dick, he knew it had begun as a way to keep others from experiencing the pain of his loss. Such a legacy he’d passed down to a kid that had been trained to take over a League of Assassins. Their lives could not be more disparate.

At a time, and Clark was ashamed to admit it, he’d wondered if he should have discouraged Jon from befriending the boy. Damian meant well, he was on a path to defy his grandfather’s legacy, but at the heart of it, he still had so much to learn. He was prickly and complex and often outright rude when he felt like it. Jon was still so young and Clark hadn’t known if he’d respond well to Damian’s personality. But, then again, Jon had a lot of fight in him. He was Lois Lane’s son, as much as Clark’s. If he was honest, Clark would have had quite the fight on his hands if he’d tried to keep Jon from him. In the end, they’d formed a partnership that rivaled Clark’s work with Bruce.

Besides, it was a good thing that Jon had someone to teach him to think more before acting. If there was one trait Damian was well known for, it was his cunning.

“Good thing,” Clark mused, sipping his coffee. “Is there a reason you’re in my kitchen tonight?”

Damian’s brow furrowed. “Of course, I didn’t come for the décor.”

Clark bit back a smile. “Noted. How can I help you, kiddo?” Added to make Damian bristle and glare at him. Though, without the mask, it lost quite a bit of its power.

“I need,” he gritted his teeth, eyes averted for a second, “your… advice.”

Clark leaned forward, “With what? A case?”

“Of sorts.”

Cryptic as ever, Clark mused. “An alien enemy?”

“Alien, yes.” His eyes softened minutely as he added, “Not an enemy. At least, not yet.”

“Hostile?”

“Sometimes,” he added, the corner of his mouth twitching. If Clark didn’t know better, he’d say it was a smile.

“A threat?”

“Not imminent.” He tapped the ring of his mug, an uncharacteristic display of anxiety.

“But bothersome?”

Damian’s eyes widened, lips pursed. “Yes,” he said tersely. At Clark’s silence, he rolled his eyes. “I’m talking about your son, Kent.”

“I figured.”

“He’s a nuisance.”

“Is he?” Clark asked lightly, smiling as Damian huffed and crossed his arms. “I have it on good authority that the people that truly annoy you don’t last long.” At the slight tension, he added, “I mean that you’re a hard one to spend time with. I know of a certain blonde that took a few years to make it into your somewhat trusted circle.”

“Brown insisted on making me try ‘new things’,” he replied, the words dripping with displeasure. “But father insists on allowing her access to the cave. Her methods are rather juvenile but occasionally, I can see a benefit in… her infuriating techniques. They’re less expected but… at times, no less successful to Cain’s. She has value.”

“Did you ever think that Jon might be similar?”

“He’s not trying to take me to trampoline parks, Kent.” His eyes cut to the window, lashes fluttering as he spoke, “He’s… trying to _study_ me.”

“How do you mean?”

“He keeps asking me questions, trying to gain intel about my past. At times, the phrasing is remarkably similar to the questions answered in my father’s case files. As though he means to start a record on how to incapacitate me if necessary. Like he thinks I’m a threat,” Damian finished, his voice growing rough. If Clark didn’t know any better, he’d say the boy was almost… hurt. Green eyes cut to Clark’s, sharp but softening with honesty. “I assure you, Kent, I am not.”

Clark’s breath caught, more surprised than concerned. “I know that, Damian. You’ve more than proven that. You’ve been an invaluable partner to my son.”

“Then why is he afraid of me?” Damian asked plainly. “Is it something I’ve done?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” He scratched at his chin, “He hasn’t said anything to me.”

“Have you come across a prophecy or some sign that something happens to us in the future?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

His eyes narrowed, critical and searching as he stood, his hand on his hip. “Or he hasn’t mentioned it to you,” he stated.

“Damian,” Clark ran a hand over his head. “What kinds of questions is he asking you?”

“What does it matter?”

“Well, is it possible you’re misinterpreting the purpose of his questioning? I’m a reporter, I know how to read between the lines.”

Damian considered this for a moment before sitting back down. “What is my country of origin, what locations did my mother take me to when I was younger, what foods do I refuse to eat,” he reeled off. “What colors am I seen in outside of uniform, who are my known associates, in what places am I known to appear.”

Clark frowned, rather certain Damian had added his father’s less personable touch. “No, no, no, how did Jon ask them?”

Damian was taken aback for a second. Then, “Where was I born, did my mother take me on any trips, what foods do I hate.” Clark nodded, encouraging him to continue. “What color do I prefer, who do I spend most of my time with, where do I spend time when I’m not working.”

All at once, Clark came to two conclusions: the first, Damian was more out of touch with boys his age than Clark had initially realized. The second, Clark’s son had clearly found his first real crush.

Clark laughed out loud, leaning back in his chair as the last of his tension left his body. Damian quickly rose to his feet, the familiar defensive scowl appeared and Clark quickly insisted, “No, no, no, I’m not laughing at you. Honest, I’m not. It’s just…” he smiled helplessly, “Damian, can you think of any other reason someone might ask you those questions?”

Damian pursed his lips, hands on his hips. “He’s trying to compile confidential information about me.”

“He’s really not. Well, not the way you think.” And boy, what it must be like to be thirteen and predict a future assassination attempt instead of a boyhood crush.

“I know what it’s like to have people be afraid of me,” he replied, his voice rather brittle. Clark’s chest tightened in response, his amusement quickly tempered. “This is nothing new.”

Clark started to respond when he heard quiet footsteps. He looked to find Lois entering the kitchen, her robe drawn tight to keep out the cold. Damian stiffened, his face closed off and blank. Clark stood up, keeping his distance. He knew that trying to comfort Damian with anything other than words would not go over well.

“Damian, Jon is not afraid of you. For you, definitely. He’s got it in his head that, if you go out without him, you’re likely to get yourself killed.”

Damian’s mouth twisted, “I’ve been doing this for way longer than he has!”

“I know,” Clark said gently, offering a smile. “I know that. But, Jon’s just… protective. Especially over the people he likes.”

Damian considered this, crossing his arms. “What does this have to do with his invasive line of questioning?”

“Pretty much everything,” Clark explained but he declined to say anything more. It wasn’t his place – he’d let his son have his crush without embarrassing him. Years later, they would laugh about this. He hoped. “I will say this, ask your father if he knows where I was born, what my favorite color is and what foods I like the best. I’m pretty sure he’ll know the answers.”

“And you know all of these things about him?”

“I think so,” Clark mused. “I’ve never asked but these are the kinds of things you learn about your friends.”

“And this information serves a purpose?”

Lois laughed, rather amused as she replied, “Mainly for birthday presents and Christmases.” Damian’s eyes softened and he averted his gaze.

Nodding, he retrieved his mask and headed over to the door, “Thank you, Kents. This has almost been helpful.”

As the door closed, Clark pulled Lois into a hug. “Was that about what I think it was about?” she asked.

Clark kissed the top of her head, holding her close. “I’m so glad I’m not a teenager anymore. I’m exhausted.”

+

A few weeks passed.

During which, Jon continued to ask Damian questions about his life. His hopes and dreams, his fears. The last had made Damian close up like a vault and he didn’t come around for a while. Eventually, Jon started to wonder if he was better off not asking. After all, Batman had said it would take a lot of time, that it had taken ages for Dick and Alfred to really edge their way into Damian’s life. But, Jon was rather impatient and it wasn’t like he was getting any younger. But, maybe he should have listened because Damian was right, Batman knew a lot of stuff and it wasn’t like his persistence was getting him anywhere.

Ironically, the day he vowed to stop asking, Damian sat at their miniature computer console and muttered, “I like green.”

It was rather random as the last thing they’d discussed had been what time Jon’s curfew was that night. Even so, Jon’s heart skipped a beat and he nearly dropped his box of noodles. His mouth dried out and he was almost too afraid to acknowledge that he’d heard it.

Two weeks later, they sat on a rooftop and Damian offered, “I’ve been to several countries. Most of which during my training. I have spilled blood on nearly every continent.” He spoke matter of factly, though his typing had slowed considerably. “I spend most of my time working or training. I like being Robin.”

Jon had started to ask – to say that Damian hadn’t quite answered his questions but, he remembered Batman’s words. The truth was in what Damian hadn’t said. In his words, Jon heard several meanings. Damian had travelled, but it hadn’t been for pleasure. Most of these places were associated with a past he’d rather not relive. He rarely spent time doing anything outside of work. But he loved what he did.

A week or so after:

“Pennyworth is an acceptable cook.”

Meaning Damian would eat just about anything Alfred made for him.

A few days later in the cave:

“Grayson insists on taking me to art exhibits and Thomas does not like to attend the cinema alone. For a time, I had interest in taking lessons to improve my skills at impersonation and subterfuge.”

Dick often took him to art shows and Duke took him to see movies. For a while, Damian had taken acting lessons. And he’d enjoyed them.

Hours later, Damian looked up from his father’s computer console and said, “I don’t particularly enjoy discussing where I came from. Grayson says I should focus on where I’m going.” His nose wrinkled, “He talks too much for his own good but… occasionally, he says something almost wise.”

In all of this, Jon realized the most notable thing: Damian had actually answered his questions. In his own reserved way but, he’d answered. He’d let Jon know a bit about his past, as uncomfortable as he was with the concept. Jon knew how much it meant that Damian had answered him at all.

He almost felt like dancing.

Instead, he sat down beside Damian with a smile. It earned a scowl but with considerably less heat than usual. “I like blue.”

Damian rolled his eyes, focusing on the computer screen. “Like your jacket and your room and your backpack? I’m shocked.”

“I like pizza and spaghetti and hamburgers,” Jon reeled off. “And—”

“Cookie dough ice cream. I know,” Damian muttered.

Jon’s smile widened and he hid it behind his hand. “I like playing video games and going to work with my mom sometimes. I think I might want to do what she does when I grow up.”

“You’re nosy,” Damian said, resting his chin in his hand. “You like telling stories. That’s why you ask so many questions. You like getting to know people.”

At Jon’s silence, he looked up, eyes narrowed as he took in Jon’s grin and easy joy. “What?” he demanded.

“You know a lot about me, Damian,” he replied.

“I know a lot about a lot of people, Kent. It’s important to be aware of the people in your environment.”

“Right.”

“It’s just good training.”

“Uh huh.”

“My father has always said so.”

“Sure.”

At Damian’s glare, Jon let out one quick burst of energy, pulling him into a hug before letting go, his face burning. Damian’s eyes widened, sputtering for a moment before he forced his eyes forward. Jon focused on staying on the ground, even as the warmth expanding in his chest threatened to lift him upwards.

“Thanks, Damian.”

“Robin doesn’t hug, Jon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [tumblr! ](http://capn-shellhead.tumblr.com)


End file.
